Dear Diary
by xSweet Allure
Summary: What does Tom Riddle REALLY write in that book of his? HUMOR. Take nothing in this seriously. Tom Riddle is my favorite HP Character and I was probably high when I wrote this xD UPDATED
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Tom Riddle is the delightful property of Ms Rowling. I do not own him. Excuse me while I go cry over this.

Dear Diary

By: xSweet Allure

----

_September 17, 1942_

_Mood: Bitchy._

_Dear Diary,_

_Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. There isn't much to say about me except that I utterly __**loathe**__ and __**despise**__ the world as well as all the filthy, disgusting people in it. Yes, my life is like a black abyss. It's suffocating sometimes. My friggen mother just HAD to die while giving birth to me! All because my pathetic excuse for a MUGGLE father ditched her sorry arse when finding out that she was a witch. _

_F. U., BITCHES. _

_Woe is me; I end up an orphan because mother lost her desire to live. THANKS MUMMY. And people wonder why I'm bitter and emo._

_Wait. What the hell is emo?_

_Hating you always,_

_Tom._

_-----_

_September 23, 1942_

_Mood: Cocky._

_Dear Diary,_

_Today I looked in the mirror and I saw the face of God._

_Then I realized I was staring at myself._

_Sweet Salazar, I'm sexy._

_The world should burn,_

_Tom._

_PS. Nagini just bit me. I hope she gets kidnapped and made into boots._

_-----_

_September 24, 1942_

_Mood: Apathetic._

_Dear Diary,_

_I think Nagini read you. She's given me a couple of venomous glares to match her never-ending bite-age into my smooth, flawlessly irresistible flesh._

_Bite-age isn't a word, by the way. But I figure, I'm Tom Riddle. I can do whatever I friggan please._

_Anyway, I hope Nagini doesn't run away._

_I'm sighing now, diary. Sighing ever so deeply . . . _

_Oh, hold on. Nagini can't "run away"! _

_She hasn't any feet. _

_Silly me! _

_I still hope that she doesn't go __**slithering**__ away though. If she does, I'll be forced into a homicidal rage. It helps to ease the overwhelming pain of abandonment which I harbor inside myself_

_Although, flying into a homicidal rage is not much different from how I usually act._

_Keep it on the down low, diary. My peers like to think I'm rather cunningly charming and suave._

_They are SO right._

_I'm pretty amazing,_

_Tom._

_September 24, 1942 Night time_

_Mood: Lonely._

_Dear Diary,_

_Nagini's acting bitchy. She won't cuddle with me._

_-tear -_

_I hate her :'[_

_Not getting any,_

_Tom._

_PS. I know what you're thinking, diary... _

_And I get PLENTY of __**that**_

_Lolz! The number of tramps in this school is glorious._

_-----_

_September 25, 1942_

_Mood: Suicidal._

_Dear Diary,_

_Some stupid Gryffindor ate the last muffin._

_Now I have no breakfast. _

_WHAT DID I EVER DO TO HER?!?!_

_You know, besides trying to cut off her hair._

_While she's sleeping._

_At midnight._

_In her dorm._

…_And then use her clippings to make a noose so that I could possibly strangle her with it._

_You know, just in case I get bored. _

_Killing is a swell hobby of mine. It's just like stamp collecting, only, not._

…_AND PLEASE, LIKE YOU WOULDN'T WANT ME IN YOUR DORM ROOM!_

_Note to self, diary-_

_I'm baking my OWN muffins tonight._

_Sad and muffin-less,_

_Tom._

_-----_

_September 25, 1942 [Night Time_

_Mood: Pissed._

_Dear Diary,_

_I set the Common Room on fire._

_It would've been marvelous if I was doing it while NOT trying to bake muffins._

_Apparently just because I can do magic…_

_That doesn't mean that I can bake._

_Curses._

_My life long dream of moving to Paris to become a world-renowned chef has been shattered._

_Shattered into a thousand glittering pieces._

_But I guess being evil is cool._

_I guess._

_Whatever,_

_Tom._

_-----_

_September 26, 1942_

_Mood: Confused._

_Dear Diary,_

_Why am I calling you a diary?_

_Do I have some female part that I don't know about?!_

_I am a MAN. _

_Men do not write in diaries. _

_They write in JOURNALS!_

_But you're pretty, diary. Because you have my name on you. _

_Feel honored._

_I just wish you were a journal._

_You're an insult to my manliness._

_Manly as ever,_

_Tommy Wommykins...errr, Tom.._

_------_

_September 28, 1942_

_Mood: Blah._

_Dear Diary,._

_That Transfigurations teacher. Dumbledore._

_He makes me hot._

_WITH RAGE!!!!_

_I wish him an eternity of constipation and gas._

_Plotting something,_

_Tom._


	2. Chapter 2

**_October 12, 1942_**

_Mood: Devious._

_Sorry I've been neglecting you lately, diary._

_My plan to beguile Dumbledore into eating tasty yet constipating foods is working._

_He hasn't stopped eating chocolate frogs, cheesy cheetahs or pixie popcorn for weeks! _

_No, diary. Cheesy Cheetahs are NOT the same as Cheetos. Although they __**are**__ quite similar._

_Much like Cheese Nips and Cheese Its._

_Who really can tell the difference?_

_Cheese Nips are cheesier, though. I've told you so it must be true._

_I NEVER lie, diary._

_Actually, __**that's**__ not true either._

_I lie all the time... _

_Oh what a tangled web I weave…_

_But I swear, Cheese Nips __**are **__cheesier._

_Yet, I'm confusing myself now because I don't think people are eating Cheetohs or Cheese Nips at this point in time._

_I mean, it's 1942. _

_MERLIN'S PANTS!_

_CAN I PERDICT THE FUTURE?!?! _

_The world lives on cheese, diary. Cheese Nips WILL be a hit. I'll make sure of it._

_Now, what was I talking about?_

_Ah, yes._

_Dumbledore._

_Operation Constipation is going swimmingly._

_He can't teach a full class without running to the loo._

_It makes me smile inside._

_And the stench just makes me want to tinkle my sexy, emerald green undies._

_I wear boxers, diary._

_I KNOW you were just dying to know that._

_Too sexy to handle,_

_Tom._

**_October 13, 1942_**

_Mood: Contemplative._

_Halloween's approaching._

_I wonder what I shall be._

_Honestly._

_I believe the whole holiday is ridiculously stereotyped and overrated._

_Bloody idiots prancing around in costumes trying to be something they're not._

_It's moronic._

_But I suppose I'll be festive for once._

_Maybe I'll go as the steamiest man in the world-_

_Tom Riddle._

_Oh, wait!_

_THAT'S MEEEEE._

_Excited for Halloween,_

_Riddle._

**_October 14, 1947_**

_Mood: Naughty._

_Diary._

_I tried baking again tonight._

_With a lady friend, that is._

_I don't really like her. _

_Hate her, ACTUALLY._

_But she was hot so I was like, what the hey, yo? _

_Anyway, I baked with this girl from my house._

_We did it in the Common Room while all the other losers were asleep._

_I popped my muffin in her oven._

_I could tell she was tingling with utter excitement._

_So…_

_We baked all over the place._

_On the floor._

_Near the fireplace._

_Real quality time with whatsherface._

_She is SUCH an "easy bake" oven._

_Her trashy ways belong in the trash._

_SHE'S MY TYPE OF WOMAN!_

_Told you I got plenty, _

_Tom._

**_October 23, 1942_**

_Mood: Numb._

_School's got me working hard, diary._

_Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you._

_Whatsherface told me she missed her friggan period since our last muffin baking festivities._

_Says she's pregnant._

_I told her she was just getting fat._

_I don't want kids,_

_Tom._

**_October 26, 1942_**

_Mood: Sore._

_I was right._

_Her fatness has gone out of control!_

_This surprises me since "muffin-making" is a sure fire way to loose those extra calories._

_Says so in "Exercising with Riddle: Your Dream Come True!"_

_It's my new workout video!!!_

_Continuing…_

_Whatsherface's not pregnant, either._

_She's just one of those creepy stalker girls who kisses my picture every night before they go to bed and prays that someday I might actually give a crap about who they really are._

_Delusional twits._

_I'll dispose of them all! _

_Whatsherface lied that she was pregnant so that we could run off to Vegas and get married by drive-thru ceremony._

_All the strong marriages start in Vegas._

_Like those soon-to-be existent muggles K-Fed and Brittney Spears._

_Well, OF COURSE I'm being sarcastic diary._

_Geesh!_

_I told the hoochie mama that I had no desire to marry her._

_She whacked me with a fish._

_WHERE THE BLOODY HELL DID SHE GET A FROZEN FISH FROM?!?!_

_My finely toned arm is sore. :\_

_In desperate need of ice,_

_Tom_

**_October 26, 1942- Night time_**

_Mood: Scared._

_I'll admit it, diary._

_There aren't many things that I'm scared of._

_For awhile, I was only frightened of clowns._

_And nuns._

_But I grew out of that._

_Well, maybe not the nuns…_

_. . .yeahhhh._

_Anyway, as I was lying in my bed tonight, reading Mein Kampf, and envisioning a perfect word free of muggles and mudbloods, I began to think…_

_What's it like to die?_

_We all die eventually, do we not?_

_Is there a life beyond this one?_

_Or are we just stuffed into a wooden box and buried for the rest of eternity?_

_-cries- I'M CLOSTERPHOBIC, DIARY!!! _

_And I'd rather not be burned, either._

_I wouldn't want to deprive the word of my gorgeously rotting corpse. _

_There's a simple solution to this._

_I just won't die._

_The idea of becoming immortal thrills me._

_Today I began researching ways to make this happen._

_The answer?_

_Vampires._

_I'd make a damn smexy vampire, diary._

_However, not one of them wanted to bite me!_

_I was emotionally destroyed for awhile._

_No one has ever passed up the opportunity to nibble on me._

_I'm delicious!_

_So I said, "SCREW YOU, VAMPIRES! I'LL JUST MAKE SOME DAMN HORCRUXES!"_

_I could tell I'd offended them greatly._

_Good._

_Sleepy,_

_Tom._

**_October 27, 1942_**

_Mood: Pensive._

_Professor Slughorn educated me further on the nature of Horcruxes_

_You see, originally…_

_I wanted to split my soul in 666 pieces._

_Or maybe just 69…_

_But splitting my soul in 666 parts would be very painful and time consuming._

_I take A.D.D. meds._

_Shocker, I know._

_I wouldn't be able to stay focused for that long._

_I've therefore settled for 7._

_Seven is the perfect magical number._

_Still…_

_666 will ALWAYS be __**my**__ favorite number._

_Let's just tell everyone its seven._

_I don't want people thinking I'm mentally unstable._

_Satan rockz,_

_Tom_

**_October 31, 1942_**

_Mood: Hot._

_I AM HOT._

_My costume is spiffy,_

_Tom._

_.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l._

_Hey guys! I love it that, when I'm bored, I can sit down and write total nonsense and then pass it off as a fanfic. It's fantastic. Anyway, I'd like at least 20 reviews before I can update the next chapter. Just so I know that you're interested. I know, I'm greedy for comments, but who isn't? Sue me!_

_Love you all,_

_Christine (x Sweet Allure)_


	3. Chapter 3

_November 2, 1942_

_Mood: Irked_

_Great news, Diary!_

_My costume was a splendid hit._

_It turned the heads of many ladies._

_And even a handful of males._

_Heh_

_Males…_

_Brokeback Mountain __gits__…_

_I have reason to believe that Dumbledore is among th__e__se._

_Yesterday he had called me into his office to "wash his wand"._

_I replied that his wand looked perfect the way it was. __Magical and whatnot._

_ I don't know. It never really occurred to me that my wand, or any __wand for__ that matter, was ever in need of a good scrubbing. I mean, their inanimate objects, right? __What do they need to be washed for?_

_Anyway, Dumbledore merely laughed at my innocently naïve answer. That annoying twinkle in the old man's eyes g__rew__ brighter._

_I thought I had been__ silently__ dismissed._

_ But then he proceeded to pull down his trousers._

_HE FLASHED ME AN ARSE CLAD IN RAINBOWS!!!_

_I had the overwhelming urge to vomit in his face._

_I feel sick. _

_I feel __strangely__violated_

_I want my mummy. :'[_

_Too bad she's croaked._

_Screw this,_

_Thomas._

_November 5, 1942_

_Mood: Clever_

_I've decided __that __I can no longer take my filthy __muggle__ father__'__s name._

_Today during "History of Magic" class, I considered __AKing__ myself due to my inevitable boredom._

_But I didn't want to cause a scene._

_And too many ladies/men would cry rivers over my __tragically unavoidable __death._

_The entire school wants to marry me, diary. We've already confirmed that._

_Oh, __which__ reminds me!__Whatsherface's__ joined a convent._

_I've made her emotionally destroyed._

_Don't ask me how. __I haven't an idea in the slightest._

_Absolutely no idea._

_I don't think __Whatsherface__ and her frozen fish of doom can REALLY join a convent, though._

_The __Slortch__ already broke th__at __whole "vow of chastity" rubbish._

_And I sure as hell am NOT baking again with a nun! _

_Creepy, __friggan__ nuns…__**they are the Devil's wives!**_

_Hum? _

_What was that diary?__ You don't know what a __Slortch__ is?_

_Let me inform you._

_Slut+Bitch+Whore__Slortch_

_Oh my! I believe I've acquired a potty mouth._

_I'll tell __Nagini__ to wash it out with soap__ later_

_But __Whatsherface__ deserves my name-calling_

_My arm __and I __will never forgive her.__Or her fish._

_So back to History class…_

_I was doodling inappropriate things consisting of male body parts._

_I figure, hey, every other perverted __prat__ does it. Let's see what __all the__ hullabaloo is about._

_It didn't seem to satisfy __my extraordinarily __artist __talent_

_So then I proceeded to just scribble my name in that gorgeously stunning calligraphy that ironically seems to match how gorgeously stunning __my __face/body/snake is._

_So many Tom's in the world, diary. It's boring._

_Being the clever lad that I am, I've come up with a few nicknames for myse__lf_

_What do you think of the following?_

_Sex God_

_Sexy Sex God_

_Or _

_Extremely Sexy Sex God_

_I vote for the latter._

_But demanding my __minions__ to call me such would probably just get them "__PO"__ed__ at how godly I am and__how they all look like crap._

_C-R-A-P_

_So I've settled on Lord __Voldemort_

_If you rearrange the letters of my former name, this is what you get._

_You dig?_

_I'm so unbelievably clever,_

_Voldemort__—_

_Oh fine, diary!_

_I see __that I__ am __confusing you with this sudden name change._

_Worthless piece of _

_You've totally just cramped my style._

_Hgfftufyjhfh_

_Tom._

_November 8, 1942_

_Mood: Annoyed._

_My "friends" just asked me about why I __**insist **__on them calling me Lord __Voldemort_

_They've pointed out that I don't in fact rule anything._

_Pfft_

_Course I do._

_I rule THEM._

_I am SO their boss!_

_The boss of them, I am__…_

_…__Luke, I am your father_

_Errr__…sorry diary._

_I admit, that was random._

_The __reslut__ of neglecting to take my meds_

_Again._

_Wait…_

_Did I just spell __reslut_

_This must be my self-__conscious__ tell__ing__ me to find __myself __a girlfriend_

_Or at least someone to bake with._

_Either one will do._

_The Playa that is me._

_November 16, 1942_

_Mood: Ashamed_

_Remember that Gryffindor, diary?_

_The one who ate MY muffin?_

_My fluffy baked good of blueberry goodness?_

_That is oh-so __deliciously __good?_

_True it was nearly a month ago…_

_BUT I HAVE THE MEMORY OF A FRIGGAN ELEPHANT, SON!_

_Well, she seemed to remember how distraught I was._

_I mean, clearly, I was sulking around all day._

_I could have owned that Myrtle girl in her endless whining._

_Her name should be MOANING Myrtle. Bitch__…_

_Anyway, the Gryffindor seemed to remember my state of depression and so she decides to show up with a whole tray of personally made muffins __just.for.me_

_I was beaming inside._

_But of course I__ couldn't lose my cool, calm,__ badass__ persona to the likes of her. __A __**Gryffindor**_

_I whacked the tray right out of her hands._

_Oh snap. __Looks like somebody's been __REJECTED._

_I'm cackling wickedly now, diary, if only you could hear it._

_Yet, somehow, I did not feel content with this wasting of perfectly good muffins._

_And if I had feelings, they would have been hurt when the girl called me a 'serious poop'._

_Poor Gryffindor__…_

_C__an't even curse._

_I don't curse either._

_What?_

_I don't!_

_YEAH, DON'T REPRIMEND ME DIARY!_

_I'm writing curses._

_There IS a difference. _

_Ass._

_So I…err…apologized__ to her__, I err…guess._

_She threw a muffin at my head._

_Tu__ shay to that._

_Feeling strange,_

_Tom._

_November 17, 1942_

_Mood: Baffled._

_I stole her notebook. _

_She writes in it ALL THE TIME._

_AND SHES WRITING ABOUT ME!!_

_Says I'm basically gorgeous._

_No argument there._

_But then she makes fun of__ me._

_She thinks I'm secretly very arrogant._

_Writes things like…_

_"Today I looked in the mirror and I saw the face of God._

_Then I realized I was staring at myself._

_Sweet Salazar, I'm sexy."_

_HOW DOES SHE KNOW THAT?!?!_

_**IS SHE SPYING ON ME?!?!?!?!?!**_

_I'm keeping this notebook._

_She won't be needed it._

_Because she'll be dead._

_You can't write when your dead, can you?_

_I didn't think so._

_-T. __Ridds_

_Gangsta_

_November 19, 1942_

_Mood: odd._

_So I went to kill her today._

_You know, my stalker girl._

_Instead, I found myself asking about her name._

_She called me a __"giant boob."_

_Said we've been going to the same school for six years and I have yet to know her name._

_Well __soooooooooooorry_

_I don't converse with __Gryffin__**dork**__s_

_She rolled her eyes at that, diary._

_Replied how clever I was with nicknames._

_OBVIOUSLY._

_She was totally NOT being sarcastic._

_Totally not._

_Anyway, Christine/Krista/Kristen/__Crusten or__ whatever the hell her name is…_

_She offered that she bake for me whatever__ it is__ I like for a lifetime._

_Krista felt guilty for insulting/stalking me._

_I raised__ a perfectly arched eyebrow._

_It would certainly be a first._

_A Gryffindor baking with me._

_"What in Merlin's name __are you talking about?" she says, after I flashed her a breathtakingly handsome grin and asked her to meet me outside my common room entrance at half past midnight._

_ "Be sure to wear something nice."_

_The dumbfounded look on her face tells me that when she said that she wanted to "bake my muffins"…_

_She meant it literally._

_Crap._

_I'm disappointed._

_-Tom_

_November 19, 1942 [five seconds later_

_Mood: OMGWTF?!?_

_WHY AM I DISAPPOINTED?!_

_SHE'S A BLOODY, INSIGNIGANT GRYFFINDOR!_

_Who would look __positively __lovely in my __Slytherin__ robes__…_

_They __would bring out the green in her stunning hazel—_

_SHUT THE &$# UP, DIARY!_

_DON'T JUDGE ME!_

_Going to kill some puppies,_

_Tom._


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Wow, rereading this…I've come to realize that I must be a naturally high person. XD I'm so used to writing more serious fan fiction. **__**Haha**__**, what a change! Especially since I love Tom Riddle and this story is sort of…**__**errrr**__**…making him sound like an arrogant **__**git**__**, to be honest. **__**LMAO.**__** I LOVE ARROGANT GITS!!!**_

_**But not really.**_

_**So, yes, I'm going to try writing a serious story about him in the near future. You watch. You all should see my **__**MySpace**__**. I role play on it as myself P **__**Only**____**it's **__**my "magically inclined" **__**self**____**I'm a witch, to state it clearly. And m**__**y top friends has, like, 1343442 Tom Riddles in it.**_

_**Ask for my link if you'd like. I use it for real life, too. I love making friends! (This is what I call "self advertising, peeps **__**D )**_

_**P.S. The Phantom of the Opera is NOT pleased with my Tom Riddle admiration. –**__**nervous**__** laugh-**_

_**Anyway, on to the **__**fic**___

_November__25__, 1942_

_Mood: Disgraced._

_I…I can't stop eating them!_

_Christine's muffins_

_I must've gained at least, like, 5775664 __friggan__ pounds._

_Not. Good. Man._

_I refuse to be an extremely hot yet morbidly obese __fatty_

_Although I'm sure I could sport the "__triple__ chin" quite well._

_I look great in everything._

_…Or nothing at all._

_-__insert__ my perverted yet alluring laughter here-_

_But no, I refuse to get fat! _

_I forbid it!_

_I must stop this muffin addiction before it spirals out of control!_

_This is __Muggle__f--__ing__ troll__s---_

_Tom._

_November 26__, 1942_

_Mood: Rejected?!?! __Wottt_

_I told Christine about my current situation with her goodies._

_She understood all too quickly._

_It made me sore. :'[_

_But to cover up these __disgusting, __newfound emotions, I replied that she could still bake WITH me if she wanted._

_She looked at me blankly again._

_So I said it straight out._

_I told her I wanted my muffin in her oven. __Gryffindor or not._

_Now, most ladies when I tell th__e__m this…_

_They leap on me like a couple of hormone-crazed __buffoons_

_But Christine__…_

_She __bitch__ smacked me._

_Bitch. __Smacked.__**ME. **_

_"UGGHH!__ MY CHEEKBONE!" screamed I._

_"I know you and your playa ways. I will not be just another one of your "easy bake ovens"," replied she._

_Christine wants a relationship with meaning_

_Whatever._

_I'm not sad over it._

_What? _

_I am most certainly NOT __crying_

_Na…-sniff- __Nagini__ just bite me again…_

_Stupid…stupid __**female**__ serpent…_

_Killing more puppies to convince myself that I'm still evil,_

_Tom._

_November 30, 1942_

_Mood: __comtemplative_

_I've decided to go into the song writing business._

_Everyone wants me to serenade them._

_Says so in "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets"._

_I have no idea who Harry Potter is, mind you._

_Its 1942, dude._

_I'm still hot._

_Without a snake-like appearance._

_And without an __angsty__emo__ kid to defeat me and my snake…y…. __yes, __snakey__ ways._

_I don't like his name very much, either._

_Rhymes with Hairy._

_Who wants to serenade a Hairy Harry__ who smokes pot with a Potter in Persia?_

_-__shudders__-_

_Anyway, I'm supposed to serenade this boy and stare at him hungrily for about 3 chapters of the book._

_"Tom's eyes fell upon __Harry's__ scar as he stared at him hungrily."_

_Or something along those lines._

_Repeated over and over._

_And then on page 254 it goes on to say that I serenade him with my melodious voice._

_Friggan__ go check, __prat_

_I'm insulted._

_You all have me confused with __Albus__Dumbledork_

_Heh__…__Dumbledork__Heh__heh_

_Well, back to my earlier point._

_I have NEVER been rejected by anyone._

_Maybe if I swoon Christine I've finally get my muffin into her oven._

_Baking is all I care about._

_ALL I care about_

_SWINGER, BABY,_

_Tom._

_December 2, 1942_

_Mood: Creative_

_Song Title of New Song: __Voldy's__ a Softy_

_Artist: Tom Riddle and Friends aka. Me_

_How's this song for a new song? _

_A hem…_

_Sing along if you would like. You can find this song on my __myspace__ page,_

_Which I have just created._

_On my laptop._

_Which…_

_Once again…_

_Should NOT be existing in the year 1942._

It's OK now, baby girl

You can look right into my eyes

Don't be afraid now, baby girl

You won't be petrified

I made a Portkey out of your home phone

Just pick it up, and we can be alone

Since I destroyed the moon

I put a Dark Mark in the sky

Light up your world with an evil twinkle in my eye

I am a Basilisk swimming in

The ocean of love

Baby girl, won't you give me a chance?

I'm everything you've been dreaming of

Whoa

I don't know how to say this, but I feel so different around you. I haven't killed a man in like, well, at least two hours anyway. Well, that may not sound like much, but it's real good for me! But when we're together, I don't feel like killing anyone anymore.

Well, except for Harry Potter

His friends, Ron and Hermione

Dumbledore, of course

Hagrid

Sirius Black, if he still lives

Snape

The rest of the Hogwarts staff, really

Draco

The Weasley family

Cornelius Fudge

Mad-Eye MoodyTonks

Remus Lupin

Any Auror come to think of it

Lilly and James Potter, if I could do it again

-cough- you. –cough-

Wait, no. No, not you, I was only joking!!!

No, don't go, wait, dark wizards really can change

No!

**Cruciatus!**

You opened my Chamber of Secrets

You are my Sorcerer's Stone

Those are just metaphors expressing my love.

I'm just glad that I'm not alone

_...Who th__ose people are that I just listed_

_Don't ask me._

_They're probably all just more__psycho__pathic __fans__ who __want__ to rape me and have m__y__ sexy __arse__ kids._

_Especially Dumbledore._

_And Hairy Harry._

_Yup,_

_Definitely want my kids._

_So do._

_Didn't kill any puppies… instead, I adopted one_

_-Tom_

_December 3, 1942_

_Mood: What the-?_

_Can't find __the blasted __puppy._

_Looked everywhere._

_I'm v__ery __bewildered by this absence_

_Knitted the thing a sweater this morning,_

_Pink._

_Yayyyyyyyyyyy__ pink sweaters!_

_-__Clears__ throat- Yes__. Well…_

_My puppy is fashionable,_

_T.M. R_

_December 3, 1942_

_Mood: Shocked._

_Nagini__ looks out of sorts._

_Like a cat who swallowed a __canari__…_

_Hummm__…_

_Wonder what about---_

_December 3__,1942_

_Mood: Crushed._

_**OH, HELL NO.**_

_BITCH SNAKE __ATE MY PUPPY!!!!!!!!!_

_I hope she falls out a window and dies._

_-Riddle_

_December 4, 1942_

_Mood: Somber._

_Performed a funeral service today._

_It was a very dismal event._

_The whole crowd mourned my loss._

_Even Christine came to give her regards._

_I miss Puppy._

_That's what I named him._

_Puppy._

_I know. It's very original._

_You wish you would have thought of it._

_Oh?_

_What's that in __Christine's__ bag?_

_Be right back, diary._

_Interested, _

_Tom._

_December 4, 1942_

_SWEET SALAZAR!_

_She bought me a baby basilisk! _

_FORGET __ABOUT FRIGGAN__ PUPPY._

_BILLY THE BASILISK IS SOOOOOOOOO MUCH BETTER__, I SAY!_

_I __lov__…like Alliteration,_

_Talented Tom the Terrific._

_\December 12, 1942_

_Mood: Numb_

_Billy is growing at an alarming pace._

_I c__an't fit him into my sock draw any__ longer_

_Christine came up to me today and told me to follow her into the girls' lavatory._

_She then surveyed the __area sufficiently_

_In a slightly dark and alluring __voice(__but not as alluring as mine, duh), she spun on her heel and cooed, __"__I want to make sure we're alone." _

_That's what she said._

_EXACT words._

_I was trying very hard to hide my shock, there, diary._

_Such a change in the 'innocent Miss Christine'_

_"Speak Parseltongue to—"_

_So I snapped. I so wanted to open up her oven.__ She was the banana and I- the banana __crazed ,hot__ shit monkey._

_I hissed in a very creepy yet undeniably sexy rare language._

_"Open your __ov__…"_

_But before I could finish my innuendo of a statement (__and she__ was getting turned on for once, I could tell) the sinks parted and there was left a gaping abyss in the center of the floor._

_"Oh Snap." Replied myself, looking down into the darkness with intrigue._

_Christine pulled out a copy of "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" and nodded to herself. "Thomas, this is the place."_

_"What? You're reading about Hairy Harry too? What is this?!"_

_Christine smacked her forehead with her palm, proceeded to call me a__n__ oblivious future dark lord and cried, "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS, __FOO'!!!!"_

_Alright, so perhaps she didn't add the "foo'" part._

_I added that for affect. _

_Apparently, diary, she wanted me to put Billy down there._

_So I have._

_Salazar would be proud._

_I'm training him to cleanse Hogwarts of all those unworthy to study magic._

_Later today, w__e came back up from the underground sanctuary of my house founder, both __of us, quite __beaming._

_Beaming so much that I thought I might actually score some th__is fine__ day._

_Christine sneered and turned to page 254 in that bloody book which she carried around with her as if it were a holy bible._

_"You find __Harry's__ scar hot." She __wept__ suddenly._

_"No I don't." said a secretly very frantic me._

_"You stare at it hungrily for a good 10 pages…" Christine shot back._

_"What was I supposed to do, Christine? IT LOOKS LIKE KETCHUP ON A HOTDOG BUN!!!"_

_"Go bake yourself a hotdog bun, then!!!" _

_And she fled from the bathroom._

_All I managed to say after this was: "I AM __**NOT**__ BLOODY GAY!!!"_

_Distraught, _

_Thomas._


	5. Chapter 5

**Holy cheese! I'm actually going to update! Say you missed me and review! Maybe then it will inspire me to write more (serious, heh) stories. LOVE YOU ALL!**

**Re-read the chapters before starting. Haha.**

**As if you couldn't tell, this is my fangirl way to say: TOM RIDDLE SO WANTS ME.**

**I'm sad, I know.**

**And my apologies to . Tom really doesn't serenade Harry on page 254. I lied, and I'm ashamed. THOUGH HE DOES STARE AT HIM HUNGERLY… HERUMPH!**

* * *

**December 20, 1942:**

Mood: Who the Hell cares anymore?!?!

-sighs- Christine's not talking to me.

At one point, I was getting through. I even asked her on a quote on quote "date"

One that I didn't just arrange in order to GET SOME.

We watched Bananas in Pajamas and played along to Blue's Clues.

Honestly, I'd rather watch the Powerpuff Girls.

Buttercup's my favorite.

She wears green.

-squee-

Anyway, we watched Bananas in Pajamas and I swear—

There's some innuendo happening there.

I mean…

Bananas…

IN PAJAMAS!!!

I don't friggan care if it's a currently non-existent show diary!

WE WERE WATCHING IT!

And I'm telling you…it's sending kiddies subliminal messages!

"Those pajamas sure look comfy…" said Christine suddenly. "Maybe I should go back to the dormitories and we could make this a… sleepover…"

I couldn't believe it!

My wand was finally gonna get to say hullo!

Christine makes my pants ecstatic.

The tingles… the tingles…

So she goes back to get her stuff

And we were getting a little frisky, not gonna lie.

Then I heard the clock chime 12 and said "OH! It's time for my midnight hotdog! Happy day! "

So I made her one too.

I'm just thoughtful like that.

Made her one with ketchup.

And she SPITS ON IT!

Ouch.

"What? You wanted mustard?" I blinked incredulously. I just couldn't understand this reaction

Until Christine started raving, "HAIRY HARRY! HAIRY HARRY!"

And ran out of the room again.

Seriously.

What did I do?

-sighs again-

Eating my hotdog alone,

Tom.

**December 20, 1942**

_Later:_

I was wondering…

Why are hot dogs called hot dogs?

They're not made from dogs are they?

Dogs…

Dogs…

Dogs that were puppies…

Puppies to be dogs…

-weeps- I MISS PUPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Grrr…

Where's that stupid serpent?

It's the BELT for her!!!!

Enraged,

Tom.

**December 20, 1942:**

_Even Later:_

I used a time turner to travel to the future and get myself a computer.

I figured this is the most logical way to get a futuristic item.

And it makes –some- sense.

Key word being "some."

Anyway…

I'm so bored and lonely.

So I think I'll log onto one of those…Teen Chat Rooms?

Oh, lovely. Conversations appear on the screen like magic!

What should my user name be?

Hummm…

Eleven3QuartRINWandOwnR.

Yes, that's clever…

A very long user name…

But it matches the length of my wand!

Logging on,

Tom.

-10 minutes later-

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?

AND I THOUGHT THE STUDENTS AT HOGWARTS WERE SLORCHES!

I get responses like: Hey bbe, wut's up?

"Oh, nothing really," I type, "Classes are tedious, and my homework is increasing in difficulty"

"Ooo," they say, "tats 2 bad."

This is the part where I sneer in disgust at their intentional typos and gaytarded ways. "It really is," I type again, and somehow my receiver can sense my fake politeness (but politeness nonetheless. I am a GENTLEMAN!) because then comes:

"I wish u were my hw, becuz then u'd b hard n id b doin u on my desk ight now ;D"

It took me awhile to figure out what this illiterate had typed.

I sat there raking my brain for a bit before my gorgeous dark eyes widened to the side of big quaffle-sized balls—

…

DAMN IT! THIS PERVERTED TALK IS CONTAGIOUS!

So I tried another girl.

"Hiya! How are you?" said they. She seemed cute enough. And she could spell 'you' with more than one letter.

"Hello," I said. And before she could inquire anything else, I quickly added, "I'm a wizard. With a LITERAL wand."

She 'lol'ed. It's so cute when they 'lol'.

"Cool! Do you perform magic tricks?"

I decided to keep how I torment people with my magically abilities to myself.

"Yes, I s'ppose I do."

"Can you make a rabbit come out of a hat?"

HA! An obvious muggle. Asking for something so senseless and pathetic. If only I could curse her through this demonic thing called a lap top…

"If you wished it."

She 'lol'ed once more. My hostile attitude deteriorated and I felt my knees begin to buckle.

"I bet you have a big rabbit. I'd love to see that rabbit come out of its hat."

Suddenly I remembered hanging that child's rabbit back at the orphanage…

"We're not talking about rabbits, are we?"

There was a long pause.

"Boxers or briefs, sweetie?"

-BLOCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!-

I LOATHE rabbits.

GRRR.

I may look forward to "having some fun"…

But if I want it, I go out and get it!

I mean, it isn't that hard!

LOOK AT ME!!!!!!!!!

Sweet Salazar!

So I tried one last attempt to find a decent, clean conversation.

"Hi ;D"

The little smiley after the greeting was attractive. I was intrigued.

"Hello there. How are you, dear? My name is Tom Riddle."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riddle."

I sniffed back a tear. That's what Christine used to call me. "Mr. Riddle." Oh so polite. Yet with the potential to be really naughty…Yes… I miss that. I mean, she'll probably never talk to me again, now that she thinks I'm "batted for the same team"… Hence why I'm wasting my live away on this… Pssh.

"You too."

"Where do you live, Mr. Riddle? The country?"

I actually did. Hogwarts was beautifully secluded in the UK countryside. "Yes. It's lovely here."

"Are there Amish where you live?"

Amish? Are those the people with the long beards and the hats and the hardcore refusal to "bake" with anyone other than their own group and not until AFTER they're married? How friggan boring and gay… Dumblebore might be Amish.

"I'm not quite sure," I answered truthfully.

"Yes, well… Could your Amish raise the barn?"

WELL!

THAT'S IT! I'M LOGGING OFF!

TOM.

**((A/N: I have nothing against Amish People! Review and I may make the chapters longer xD Kisses!))**


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